queen of slums
by heliobabe
Summary: in which Maya becomes the street art queen of NYC.
1. i

It starts on a Saturday night, twenty minutes before closing. Ronald, the man who spends all day sitting in a corner booth, has read the entire paper front to back and is now staring out the window. Maya thinks she is the only one who doesn't make him leave after six hours. She feels for him, his half toothless grin, purple bags hanging heavily under bloodshot eyes; refills his coffee on her own dime. That night, he is wearing three coats and he winces everytime he shifts in his seat. He talks to her about poverty, capitalism, what it means to be american versus what the higher ups want it to mean. Right versus wrong. He talks about Karl Marx and most of the time makes no sense but she listens raptly, understanding one thing: it's shitty to be lower class in this city. People in power do not give a shit, regardless of what they say.

While she wipes down the tables, he stares out the window. Between filling a Styrofoam to go cup up with hot chocolate and wrapping up a few day old muffins and bagels, she asks him where he hangs when he's not there.

"Over on Ryner Ave, in Bed Stuy," he answers, eyes stuck outside, somewhere just beyond reality. "Wish there was something pretty to look at over there. Not like here, see that painting?"

Maya snorts, "That's graffiti, Ron, tagging. It's not like it sunflowers or roses."

He laughs, "You just ain't lookin' at it right, girl, it's a work of art. Nothing like that where I live, they painted over the only art there was, too cold for anybody to go out there and put more up"

She hands him the cup and bag, he tries to give her a few crumpled dollar bills.

Maya rolls her eyes, "Don't worry about it now, Ron, I already closed the register."

He looks suspicious, but drops it, "Careful, little girl."

Maya simply raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head, touches a dirty hand to her shoulder, "People gonna realize there's a heart under all that snark"

"Not likely, Ron."

After she locks the door, she starts counting her tips. That night, she sits in Ron's usual seat and stares at the grafitti; its regular tagging, some fancy symbols. The color is too much for her taste, all over and wild, but the longer she looks the more she gets it. It's an act of rebellion that artistic in nature but abrasive in practice. Forcing people to see look at it, you have no choice but to acknowledge it. That night, she stops at a grocery store, pays a jacked up price for a simple can of black spray paint.

* * *

She practices everyday, sits out on her fire escape with poster board. spends forever spraying her name, the alphabet, Riley's name, everything she can think of until the bottle stops spraying even air.

In short, she sucks.

Being a proud Gen Y baby, she retreats to the internet to research. Within an hour, she's got a whole new world opened in front of her and a plan.

The next time she walks home from work, she goes to an art store and buys a few cans of black spray paint, some cardboard, and an x-acto knife.

* * *

In the end, it takes exactly three weeks to get everything just perfect. She agonizes over the cutouts and the pressure of the can, the perfect angles. She sneaks out of the house at two in the morning, wearing her usual clothes plus a few layers of sweaters and a leather jacket

She walks for half an hour and is done in fifteen minutes, the work done a little sloppier due to darkness and jittery fear of being caught. Her adrenaline is flowing hard and she sprints the whole way home, stopping only when she gets into the alley with her fire escape. She climbs the in through her window, relieved that her mother doesn't even seem to be home yet.

She is grinning, and asleep before her head hits the pillow.

* * *

The next time she sees Ron, he is grinning at her so hard she thinks she's never seen so many of the teeth he has left.

"You did a nice thing, girly." He says, eyes glittering and watery.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Ron." Maya says, pouring coffee into a freshly washed mug in front of him. "Between work, school, and being a badass I don't have time to do nice things."

"Sure, sure." He is still smiling into his coffee, shaking his head. "But for future reference, girl, sunflowers in the middle of January is a little too obviously ironic. You should have stuck with the roses or something."

She's never felt more accomplished, but scowls at him anyway.


	2. ii

She's not sure exactly how it got this far. It was supposed to be a one time thing, and it was. Until, of course, it wasn't. Now there are actual people talking about it. Whispers about a new street artist who scares old republicans.

Maya doesn't know why her work suddenly became political, because that's not what it's supposed to be. It's supposed to be biographical, but somewhere along the way Ron's rambling snuck into her gloved hands as they made pictures that seemed more accusing than nostalgic. An empty soup can in the style of Warhol. Droopy eyes that she made with Ron's hunger in mind.

It isn't until Riley's family talks about it at the dinner table that she gets nervous.

Riley is scrolling through her phone when Mr. Matthews tells her to put it down. Riley doesn't even acknowledge him.

"Honey?" Mrs. Matthews asks, waking a hand in front of her face.

Riley looks up, and sighs dramatically, "I _just_ wanna be good at _something_!"

The table is quiet. Mr. Matthews gives a long suffering glance towards the heavens, "I'll bite. What's wrong, Riley?"

"Have you guys seen this new street art guy?! He's incredible!"

Maya looks over, more interested in her stroganoff than Riley's current (adorable) melodrama. When she glances at the screen, her heart stutters to a stop. "Um."

"'Um'?! Maya, your only response to my crisis is ' _Um_ '!" Riley is horribly offended and Maya laughs a little. She picks at her plate when she's struck with a thought.

"Why do you assume it's a guy?" Maya asks suddenly, then chokes a little when she realizes she asked out loud.

Mrs. Matthews is nodding her head. "Exactly! Why _do_ we assume it's a guy?"

"What's street art?" Auggie asks, looking wildly from face to face.

"Someone who paints artworks on sidewalks or on the side of buildings." Maya offers.

"It's illegal." Mrs. Matthews says.

"So when we draw on the sidewalk with chalk you're letting me break the law?!" Auggie yells, slapping his hands to his face.

"No, Auggie, chalk is legal. Painting isn't." Maya says. Auggie looks relieved and slightly confused.

"Can we focus on the fact that I have no _purpose in life_ , please?!" Riley cries.

Mrs. Matthews smiles brightly, "Who wants cake?"

Later that night, after placating Riley with the knowledge that she is very fashionable and also a _very_ good best friend, Maya casually asks to see the pictures of the art.

"Don't get any ideas, Maya." Mr. Matthews says from his spot on the couch. Maya rolls her eyes, "Wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Matthews."

Riley sends her the name of the instagram account. It's all different kinds of street art from all over the world. It seems to operate off of submissions. When she goes into the NYC tag, she finds about five pictures of her art. The soup can has seven hundred likes and she feels lightheaded. There are only about twenty comments, but they range from impressed to annoyed.

"So original. Please, Warhol is probably rolling in his grave. This is a slap in his face"

"stfu bro this is some good shit"

"Looks like NYC has it's own Banksy. Dude's got talent."

Maya is slightly offended by the 'dude' thing. She is flattered, however, by the Banksy comment. Before she know it, she's already planned out her next work.

* * *

It takes her four weeks to get the cut out right, and then two more to figure out the perfect placement. She picks a medium sized 'canvas', big enough to catch attention but not enough to take up too much time. She does the cut out on a washing machine box she got from her landlord, Lola, a willowy woman in her late sixties that wears dark purple lipstick and has a cigarette permanently placed in her hand. Supposedly Lola was once an artist in the sixties and worked as a Go Go dancer at one point. Maya isn't sure why, but her landlord is incredibly fond of her and regularly invites her over for coffee.

She decides to wait a bit, and does a few more smaller pieces before the big one. Just to have some more of her work out there. She researches Banksy some more, and decides to take his lead on the animals, but replaces rats for deer and pigeons for sparrows.

When she finally puts up the big piece, several things happen at once.

First, cops are involved.

Second, a reporter for some hipster blog/zine shows up.

Third, the school holds an assembly about graffiti, and a police officer discusses the legal ramifications of illicit street art.

And lastly, people love it. It's all anyone talks about that morning at school.

There are whispers around the entire school about who it might be. No one so far has guessed correctly but they are getting one thing right: He probably goes to JQA middle school and he is a _she._ Maya realizes with some amusement that this has pissed of more than a few people.

When her and Maya are walking in that day, they both stop at a crowd of people. Maya puts on a poker face and pushes through the crowd. Her classmates are taking pictures of and with the piece. There are two cops talking with the principal off to the side.

Riley decides that illegal equals not cool, and so she turns up her nose, hooks her arm with Maya's and mutters something about hooligans. She marches them into class and Maya has to stop herself from being a little disappointed.

When they get into class, Zay is showing off a picture he took as if he's getting it published in Time Magazine. Maya says as much, and Lucas is staring at her in a way that is _almost_ making her uncomfortable.

Zay rolls his eyes, "You just don't get _real_ art, Ms. Shortstack."

Before she gets the chance to respond, Riley practically jumps down Zay's throat and states fervently that Maya is _the best_ artist in their class and how _dare_ he insinuate Maya doesn't get real art whens she _creates_ it, for goodness sake!

Lucas snorts so loud everyone turns to stare. Maya's head goes quiet. She squints her eyes, "What are you laughing at, Huckleberry?"

He knows. He knows. Lucas _knows_ , and she's pretty sure he's gonna be an asshole about this. Except all he does is shake his head and look down, shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. Mr. Matthews comes in and informs them that there will be an assembly later to address the vandalism that occurred, and if anyone knows anything to report it to the principal immediately.

Maya breaks out in a cold sweat when she feels Lucas' eyes on her back.

She has no clue what his next move is.

After spending the entire day in blank horror, she gets out of school unscathed. When she sees Lucas leaving, she runs to catch up with him.

"So you're not gonna say anything?" She asks, feeling slightly nauseous.

He keeps a brisk pace and Maya has to jog a little to keep up. When they get to the subway platform, he turns to her, "Say anything about what?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Ranger Rick. Come on. Are you gonna snitch?" She's got a precarious grip on her patience at best and it's slipping.

He only smiles that ridiculous cowboy smile. "First, I've got no idea what you're talking to me about. Second, I'm many things, Maya, but I'm not a snitch."

Maya stares at him blankly, "Seriously?"

He looks slightly more serious now, turning to face her fully as Riley rushes to meet up with them. "Seriously."

Maya should be shocked, but somehow, she isn't. Riley notices she's missed something but doesn't push and Maya is grateful. They get on the subway together and Riley chatters as per usual. She manages to cover her future career choice as a fashion designer, her mother's cooking, and an upcoming test in her science class all in the fifteen minutes it takes to get to Lucas' stop. Right before his stop, Riley begins to bring up the 'delinquent' who vandalised the front of their school. Under the pretence of the subway pushing him into Maya as it comes to a halt, he moves in way too close and whispers, "It looked really good, Maya."

Then he's out the door, walking away and Maya is suddenly a blushing idiot. Riley looks concerned, but Maya only shakes her head and tells her she feels a little warm.

* * *

That night, Maya gets a text from Lucas that contains a link to the hipster blogger she'd seen that morning. The first post contains a high-quality picture of her art that'd been through some serious filters.

 _It looks like New York has a new artist on it's hands, and she's got a few things to say. This was taken in front of the John Quincy Adams Middle School in Greenwich Village earlier this morning. If you aren't aware, this piece seems to be heavily inspired by Banksy's "Rage the Flower Thrower". However, instead of the male holding flowers, it's a young girl with pigtails holding a spray paint can. I think it's safe to assume this particular artist is making a pretty bold statement here. Regardless, I'm excited to see what she has to say next._

Maya is grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. She begins to read the comments. They're reminiscent of the ones found on the instagram picture, but a few of them go a little bit more in depth about Banksy and street art. One at the bottom catches her attention. It was left by an anonymous account.

 _I think this artist has a lot of really important things to say, and I'm excited to hear her say them._

-Bucky McB

* * *

 _Sorry, quick note: I'm not sure whether I'm making this a very squinty Lucaya or just a close friendship of Lucas and Maya (tbh i'll leave that up to ya'll so let me know what you think ,either way). I'm not a big fan on how I characterized Riley here because she seems a little bit too dramatic and a little bland so i very well may rewrite this and repost it but for now I'll leave it how it is. Next chapter will either feature some Riley and Maya or some Shawn and Maya. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!_


	3. iii

Shawn returns to the city in March, the cold of winter just starting to give way to a very chilly spring. He's been avoiding Maya ever since him and Angela got back together, the two of them traveling together now. He visits more than he did before that Christmas, though, but she's not sure if it's out of guilt now more than anything.

He texts her whenever he's in the neighborhood, offers to get some dinner and catch up. Maya is too scared to show up and see Angela there to ever say yes.

Shawn is happy, something that Maya knows very well. She's happy _for_ him, but she knew from the second they ran into each other that it was the end of whatever they had, as well as whatever he had with her mother. Riley didn't get out of bed for two days, poor thing.

Maya picked up a few more shifts at the diner and refused to talk about it ever again.

But he's here now; she's gotten three texts from him since this morning, and he doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon.

 _Feel like Thai food tonight? My treat._

 _lets meet up, we should talk about this, kiddo_

She starts on a new cutout, cutting the lines precisely and turning her phone on vibrate.

Her phone buzzes three more times.

Riley, who has never given up on anything in her life: _Uncle Shawn's back in town! Come over and say hi!_

Shawn, probably feeling guilty: _Maya I know what you're thinking and you're wrong. Please text me back_

Mrs. Matthews: _Why don't you come over for dinner tonight?_

Maya grimaces, turns off her phone all together.

* * *

When her parents divorced, Maya stopped talking for over two weeks. Her mother took her to a therapist, her dad yelled about paying too much money for a therapist, and her therapist kept asking her if she felt safe.

Riley was quiet for once in her life, and just sat with Maya. This was when Maya knew that Riley would be the best thing that ever happened to her. For the whole week, Riley deflected stupid questions and answered relevant ones. Riley was her mouthpiece, and there was no one else in the world who she trusted more with the job. Maya realized that for all of Riley's wide eyed idealism, she's one of the most solid rocks to lean on when the going gets tough (and the going got real damn tough).

Mr. Matthews didn't care that she wasn't speaking, because he said that he had enough words for the both of them. One day when her parents wouldn't stop fighting, she crawled out her window and ran all the way to Riley's on her ten year old legs. When she got there, she found out Riley and Mrs. Matthews had gone shopping. She found Mr. Matthews and a babbling one year old Auggie. Mr. Matthews made her a peanut butter and fluff sandwich, with extra fluff (exactly the way she liked them). He let her eat on the new couch and put on Spongebob. She started crying halfway through her sandwich, silent sobs making pieces of marshmallow fluff and peanut butter fall onto the otherwise clean furniture. Auggie had patted her knee, attempting to comfort her with a colorful set of play keys. Mr. Matthews sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders and told her that none of it was her fault, no matter how much her therapist costs or how much peanut butter she spit onto _brand new couches_. She remembers feeling safe for the first time in weeks. When he asks her if she understands, she almost nods but decides to let out a small, "Okay."

He had looked so proud she almost started crying again.

Maya sometimes wishes she could stop talking again, wants that quiet in her head that came with everyone else's careful silence.

* * *

Later that night, as Maya is bundling up to go paint a little, there's a knock on the door. She freeze's. Grandma Hart stopped babysitting, and she knows for a fact that her mom is working till midnight at least. She grabs the switchblade from the junk drawer in the kitchen and tucks it into her sleeve. When she looks through the peephole, she decides she would have preferred the robber.

"Maya, I know you're here, I just texted your mom." He stops, "Well, I mean, you _better_ be here."

She lets out a soft laugh before slapping a hand over her traitor's mouth. She can practically hear his grin. "Maya, we need to talk. Please just open the door."

She leans against it, weighing her options. After a moment, he sounds defeated.

"Look, I know I haven't been the best- haven't _been_ there for you like I said I would. I know that. But you won't answer my texts, or my calls. I even sent you an email. God, do you kids even use email anymore?

"It's not fair that you won't answer me, because I really want to talk to you. I know you're angry. I remember being angry all the time, and I don't want you to live with that like I did. I don't want you to feel alone. I want- I want you to feel protected, Maya, and I want to protect you from all those awful feelings I grew up with. That's all I want. I'm sorry things didn't work out with your mom. I'm sorry if you feel like I left you, but I didn't. I'm not a leaver, remember? I'm a stayer, even if my job doesn't make it seem that way. Maya, _please_ just open the door."

Maya slowly, slowly unlocks the deadbolt, but it's loud enough and the door is opening before the latch hits the wood of the door. Before she can roll her eyes he is hugging her. There are tears in his eyes and apologies falling out of him like rain.

When he finally pulls back, he looks so relieved. "Please don't do that to me again, I promise I'll try to never deserve it."

Maya shrugs noncommittally, Shawn laughs like nothing's funny. She had tried to convince herself that she was apathetic; that she had always seen this coming. He would find something better and never look back. Strike two for Maya in the paternal department.

However, she hadn't anticipated anger. Maya knows anger, feels it when people underestimate her, even stronger when they underestimate Riley. She feels anger when she thinks about sexism or racism or homphobia. She never thought she would feel angry at Shawn for leaving, even if it was just her interpretation of the events that transpired.

"So, how have you been?" Shawn asks, breaking the slightly awkward silence. She shrugs, going into the kitchen. He follows her, raising an eyebrow when she pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot. She sticks it in the microwave and raises an eyebrow right back.

"Your mom lets you drink coffee now?" He asks, taking to hot mug from her hands.

"You see my mom here to tell me one way or the other?" she asks, pouring herself another cup. He sits down at the tiny kitchen table.

"No, I don't. Has she been working a lot?" He clears his throat and Maya does her best not to roll her eyes out of her head.

"I guess, but I'm working, too, now." Maya say. He looks slightly appalled.

" _Why_? Maya, your mom works so _you don't have to_. She wants you to focus on school, you know that." He says.

Maya shrugs again. "I wanted to save up money of my own."

Shawn leans back in his chair, like he understands completely. He stares down into his coffee. "I see. Contingency plans, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's your 'just in case' fund, right? For when things get bad, or if you need to get out quick. I get it." Maya is shaking her head, feeling accused and transparent all at once. She turns around to ignore the burning in her cheeks, the anger bubbling up. There are dishes on the drying rack, and she starts putting them away.

"Oh, you understand it all, don't you, Hunter? You get us wayward teens, right? Gonna open a home for us? Hunter's Home for Flight Risks? Do I get the Daddy Issues discount?" She slams a cabinet shut so hard the kitchen rattles.

Shawn smiles, "More of a club, really. ' _Screwed Up Kids: Big Issues, Bigger Hearts'._ For your information, I would be a dedicated member but probably not a founder."

"I think I want to go to La Guardia." Maya says without pretense, "It's an art school in Queens. Art supplies aren't cheap and I don't want my mom to have to worry about another expense."

Shawn's face splits into a grin so big it feels like the sun is shining in her kitchenette. She laughs at his boyish face, "What?"

"I'm glad you're making plans, is all." Maya must look confused because he gestures to the chair. She sits, letting the coffee warm her cold hands.

"Maya, when I was your age, I was fairly certain I wouldn't live up to much more than trailer trash. I figured I would consider myself lucky to not be in prison by now. I didn't want much, because wanting more was a risky endeavor, and one I wasn't sure I could ever afford."

"What changed your mind?"

"The Matthews, Cory especially. He wanted more for the both of us. Feeny. I had a teacher who took me in for a little bit, Mr. Turner. He helped me out, too." Shawn looks far away for a moment before shaking his head. He leans in closer to Maya, looks earnest as ever. "If a kid like me got a chance like that, Maya, _anything_ is possible for a girl like you."

"It's easy to shrug and accept a life of something _okay_ or _alright_ , but, Maya, people like us get complacent too easily. We don't wanna fight too hard cause we're scared it'll be too much or too strong. But all you gotta do is glance over your shoulder to realize this: _you have people on your side_. You always have, you always will. The Matthews, Riley especially. Your mom. Me. All these people who aren't afraid to help you shoulder your burdens. You don't always have to break your own back with the weight of the world, kid. It might seem unavoidable, but I swear it isn't."

Maya stares into her coffee and pretends there aren't tears stinging her eyes. She swallows past the lump in her throat and takes a second before replying. "Okay."

Shawn ducks his head to catch her watery eyes, "Okay, then."

Her head settles again into that warm silence from years ago, but there is no unsettled glances from others, just a comfortable quiet that sounds the way home feels.

* * *

Hello, all! Hope you're doing well! I hate being that fic author who is never happy with how their work came out but once again I'm not completely confident with this but I wanted to update since I haven't in a while. Please let me know what you think if you're feeling up to it. Thanks for reading!


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